haven't I?"
"Look at it any way you want, Tilda."
"Wyatt, I
did
leave a message for you at the Baptist Spa. It was the first long-distance telephone call I'd ever made. I knew you couldn't get back home in time. At least I wanted you to have notice."
"I never got the message."
"Did you ask after any messages?"
"I spent all night with prostitutes. Please don't tell Aunt Constance."
"Oh, well. You'll have to describe that experience some time, Wyatt. If it's still the truth by the time you're ready to describe it."
"I'll relate it to Hans, man to man."
"I'm sure my husband will learn something new."
"Does your father know you already got married?"
"To that end, we paid Reverend Plumly an extra amount. He drove over and told Dad."
"But you haven't seen Donald."
"No. And no surprise, he hasn't visited the newlyweds."
"Are you planning a honeymoon, then?"
"In two years, we hope. Given our present finances."
"So probably you'll move to Halifax."
"Hans has to finish his degree. And Dalhousie's in Halifax, isn't it? A man and wife live together, don't they?"
Hans stepped into the bakery, looking a little the worse for wear himself but with an expression of surprise and great relief, as if he hadn't seen Tilda in ages and was dumbstruck by the very sight of her. "Good morning again, my angel," he said, and kissed Tilda's hands. Hans was wearing a winter coat, and he'd brought a shawl and set it around her shoulders. "Hello, Wyatt," he said. "Tilda's my wife now. But you can meet her for breakfast like this any morning. If she approves. You are fortunate cousins, I think. It would be nice to have my own cousins living as close by."
"Where are your cousins, anyway?" I said.
"Denmark and Germany," Hans said.
"No, I guess Denmark and Germany aren't
close by
Nova Scotia, are they?"
"I wrote down a phrase the other day," Hans said. "'An ocean separates us.'"
"You're filling up those notebooks left and right. Keep up the good work, Hans," I said. "Tilda, where's Cornelia?"
"Gone to get more flour," Tilda said.
"Wyatt," Hans said, "I have an idea and I want to speak with you about helping me with it. Let's all have breakfast together, thenâWyatt, do you have to go immediately to work with toboggans, or might you have time to speak with me?"
"Lately, Hans, my employment situation's up in the air."
"I hope it comes down," he said.
"What is it you want to talk about that you can't say in front of your wife? Not, if you ask me, an honest way to start married life, eh?"
Hans sat down at the table. Tilda brought over a pot of coffee and cups for all three of us on a tray. She set the pot on an oven mitt on the table. She slid open the glass display case and took out a plate full of day-old scones and set it on the table, too. Hans said, "All right, good. Thank you for the lesson in marriage. But Tilda already knows my idea."
"We talked about it for hours," she said.
"I probably will fail," Hans said. "But I'm wanting. Very much wanting. Toâhow did you put it, Tilda?"
"Make amends," Tilda said.
"Make amends with Donald Hillyer. He's my father-in-law now. I'd like to make amends with my father-in-law."
I said, "You've got a better chance of having afternoon tea with Jesus."
Tilda laughed, because she remembered the title of one of Reverend Witt's sermons: "Is Afternoon Tea with Jesus Possible?" Hans looked puzzled. With that title, Witt had intended to make people curious about simple day-to-day faithâif Jesus dropped by one day for tea and a chat, off the cuff, what might you most want to discuss with him? Tilda kissed Hans and said, "Not laughing at your expense, darling. Go ahead. Go on. Tell Wyatt what you have in mind."
"Like an archaeologist, I glued pieces of Mr. Hillyer's phonograph records together," Hans said. "They're too damaged to play, of course. But I was able to write down the names of the composers and the compositions, you see. And my idea is, you accompany me to Halifax, because I
"Look at it any way you want, Tilda."
"Wyatt, I
did
leave a message for you at the Baptist Spa. It was the first long-distance telephone call I'd ever made. I knew you couldn't get back home in time. At least I wanted you to have notice."
"I never got the message."
"Did you ask after any messages?"
"I spent all night with prostitutes. Please don't tell Aunt Constance."
"Oh, well. You'll have to describe that experience some time, Wyatt. If it's still the truth by the time you're ready to describe it."
"I'll relate it to Hans, man to man."
"I'm sure my husband will learn something new."
"Does your father know you already got married?"
"To that end, we paid Reverend Plumly an extra amount. He drove over and told Dad."
"But you haven't seen Donald."
"No. And no surprise, he hasn't visited the newlyweds."
"Are you planning a honeymoon, then?"
"In two years, we hope. Given our present finances."
"So probably you'll move to Halifax."
"Hans has to finish his degree. And Dalhousie's in Halifax, isn't it? A man and wife live together, don't they?"
Hans stepped into the bakery, looking a little the worse for wear himself but with an expression of surprise and great relief, as if he hadn't seen Tilda in ages and was dumbstruck by the very sight of her. "Good morning again, my angel," he said, and kissed Tilda's hands. Hans was wearing a winter coat, and he'd brought a shawl and set it around her shoulders. "Hello, Wyatt," he said. "Tilda's my wife now. But you can meet her for breakfast like this any morning. If she approves. You are fortunate cousins, I think. It would be nice to have my own cousins living as close by."
"Where are your cousins, anyway?" I said.
"Denmark and Germany," Hans said.
"No, I guess Denmark and Germany aren't
close by
Nova Scotia, are they?"
"I wrote down a phrase the other day," Hans said. "'An ocean separates us.'"
"You're filling up those notebooks left and right. Keep up the good work, Hans," I said. "Tilda, where's Cornelia?"
"Gone to get more flour," Tilda said.
"Wyatt," Hans said, "I have an idea and I want to speak with you about helping me with it. Let's all have breakfast together, thenâWyatt, do you have to go immediately to work with toboggans, or might you have time to speak with me?"
"Lately, Hans, my employment situation's up in the air."
"I hope it comes down," he said.
"What is it you want to talk about that you can't say in front of your wife? Not, if you ask me, an honest way to start married life, eh?"
Hans sat down at the table. Tilda brought over a pot of coffee and cups for all three of us on a tray. She set the pot on an oven mitt on the table. She slid open the glass display case and took out a plate full of day-old scones and set it on the table, too. Hans said, "All right, good. Thank you for the lesson in marriage. But Tilda already knows my idea."
"We talked about it for hours," she said.
"I probably will fail," Hans said. "But I'm wanting. Very much wanting. Toâhow did you put it, Tilda?"
"Make amends," Tilda said.
"Make amends with Donald Hillyer. He's my father-in-law now. I'd like to make amends with my father-in-law."
I said, "You've got a better chance of having afternoon tea with Jesus."
Tilda laughed, because she remembered the title of one of Reverend Witt's sermons: "Is Afternoon Tea with Jesus Possible?" Hans looked puzzled. With that title, Witt had intended to make people curious about simple day-to-day faithâif Jesus dropped by one day for tea and a chat, off the cuff, what might you most want to discuss with him? Tilda kissed Hans and said, "Not laughing at your expense, darling. Go ahead. Go on. Tell Wyatt what you have in mind."
"Like an archaeologist, I glued pieces of Mr. Hillyer's phonograph records together," Hans said. "They're too damaged to play, of course. But I was able to write down the names of the composers and the compositions, you see. And my idea is, you accompany me to Halifax, because I
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